Harp's Manor

INSTALLMENT III

March 24, 1928

I have much to write about and not many words to do so with, so I must make my reports brief.

The day following the opening gala was surprisingly quiet and uneventful. Nobody could locate Mr. Harp; he appeared to have vanished during the night to attend to some business. I awoke at nine and descended to breakfast shortly after, finding only Cornelius Stephenson at the table.

"Good morning," I greeted him. "Say, where do you suppose everyone is?"

"They're either holed up in their rooms or sleeping off the party," he answered without looking up from the paper.

We didn't converse any further and he left the room shortly thereafter.

I spent the rest of the day 'holed up in my room,' as Mr. Stephenson would have put it, staring at my typewriter blankly. It was a rainy day; otherwise I would have gone for a walk, if I could have found anyone in the abandoned place to walk with. March days in New York are always dreary. I was already beginning to doubt whether agreeing to this experiment was a good idea at all. On top of that, I was suffering the most severe lack of inspiration I had ever experienced. I went to bed that day feeling ill at ease.

The next day was more tolerable than the previous. Mr. Stephenson was not at the breakfast table, and instead I was greeted by Mr. Forrest.

"Lovely to see you again, Miss Thornton," he said as I sat down. "Nasty weather yesterday, wasn't it? It's cleared up today, at least; if you wouldn't mind, may I request your presence on a walk this fine morning?"

"Quite certainly, Mr. Forrest. If I may ask, where were you yesterday?"

"Scouting out the place," he replied, setting his glass of orange juice on the table. "Harp's Manor is much larger than I anticipated. Did you know that it has its own cinema?"

"What use could we possibly have for that?"

"I haven't the faintest idea. The concept of the house, from my understanding, is to meet every desire we may have so that we don't ever leave it."

"That's rather dark thinking, Mr. Forrest."

"It's not to keep us prisoners, Miss Thornton; it's for convenience. Wouldn't you much rather tap a bell and yell, 'Maid!'- than actually clean up the glass of coffee you spilt?"

I blushed and began grabbing at the linen napkins nearest to me, sopping up the quickly spreading mess. "I'm perfectly happy serving myself, thank you very much," I asserted.

He leaned over to help me. We had moved our chairs closer together; it was much too depressing to be spread so far apart with only the two of us at the table. "I admire that about you, Miss Thornton," he said quietly.

Mr. Forrest and I have become fast friends. Over the course of our walk, we were able to discuss our lives and our impressions of the others. We were very much decided to a similar degree, and agreed with each other on many points. The purpose of the walk, it appears, was to find picturesque areas for Mr. Forrest to paint, but he couldn't seem to find many that caught his eye. I didn't mind that much: the exercise was good for my writing block.

"This is my favorite kind of weather," Mr. Forrest remarked at one point during our walk. "It's not raining, but the clouds are still there; the sun isn't shining, but it's still glowing; and there's a most wonderful breeze if you ever need a breath of fresh air."

"I think it's still rather dreary, to be honest."

"As do I. It's the perfect weather for inspecting locations. Nothing looks at its best, so you can't be deceived by false glamour. Therefore, when I come back to paint, it will only look better."